Murder at Shake Holes by Bruce Beckham

Author:Bruce Beckham [Beckham, Bruce]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Lucius
Published: 2019-07-11T04:00:00+00:00

10. FLYING VISIT

Friday, 6am

As hangovers go, Skelgill’s first impression of this morning’s is that it is of the heavy metal variety, with head-banging sound effects to match. However, as he rolls over and clamps his pillow tightly around his skull, he receives a shock – for the persistent dub-dub-dub diminishes. The pulsation must be emanating from outside his room; indeed, as he experimentally removes the makeshift muffler, he recognises the chopping engine of a helicopter.

He hobbles to the window and parts his curtains. It is still dark but the aircraft’s blinding searchlight creates a great white pool out of the parking area. Instantly he notes two facts. Firstly, it has stopped snowing. Secondly, the pilot does not intend to hang about – for a figure is being lowered by winch – and if he is not mistaken he recognises the slight but capable athletic form.

Thus by the time a sockless Skelgill has donned a rudimentary outfit and made his way out of doors via the tack room as the most expedient route, he finds DS Jones striding across the stable yard, presumably having had the same idea. She unslings a small rucksack from her back and presents it to Skelgill as they converge.

‘I have to be really quick, Guv – they’re waiting for me.’

Skelgill looks momentarily panicked. The beat of the rotors bounces about the courtyard like an insistent summons. But he figures they will have allowed time for her to make her way inside the building. He jerks a thumb over one shoulder.

‘Come in – tell us.’

DS Jones’s shrewd hazel eyes meet his. She gives a nod. They have equipped her with an olive-green jump suit, and a black helmet and combat boots, and with a full body harness she looks the part of serving flight crew. She follows him inside. He tugs shut the stable-style doors to reduce the noise. She pulls off her helmet and shakes out her fair hair; it seems an extravagant gesture under the circumstances.

‘Guv – the demands on the helicopter are unbelievable. There are people trapped left, right and centre – some really urgent cases. I’ve managed to get us a window. I cleared it with the Chief. I’ve had two forensic officers brought down from Penrith. We’re going to collect Mikal Mital’s body from the train – and they’ll grab what evidence they can and seal off the sleeping car. We’ve also got an old lady on board, from Ulphathwaite where I spent last night – she needs urgent dialysis. We’ll be at maximum payload.’

Skelgill nods grimly. Despite that he knows all about the significance of payload when it comes to such aircraft, she is being somewhat diplomatic in her rationale. But, he has to admit; they don’t call her ‘fast-track’ back at the station for nothing. There are calculations that balance the requirements of the case (its seriousness as yet unconfirmed) with the obligation to extract the stranded passengers and reinstate them upon their journeys. Notwithstanding, Skelgill is troubled by the

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